The line which stood out for me in this chapter was "there is a crucial connection in the divine plan between advanced prayer and generous suffering." (P 15) Both of them suffered immensely. And John said "under duress 'a soul enkindled with love is a gentle, meek, humble, and patient soul.'" (P 36) And yet it is so easy to try to avoid all difficulties rather than go through them.
If a person loves Jesus with a lot of supernatural love then they want to be with him not only in his glory now but also in his humility and suffering (which we read about in the Gospels), which move their heart with compassion and so whatever happens to them, they find him there (by looking), and they rejoice (are they cold? He has been cold; are they hungry? He has been hungry; have they been woken in the night? He has been deprived of sleep as we have read.) Here I speak of material things. We, however, do not rejoice and so what is missing is just this large amount of supernatural love (and it is natural for it to be missing because it comes from God, not from our own nature. It can be had for the asking, however.)
So really the secret sauce for everything is to ask (persistently like the widow annoying the judge) for a greater love of God. I came into this backwards about nine years ago by asking for a greater love of neighbor and when I observed later that what I had most obviously received was a greater love of God [resulting from having the love of God poured into one's heart via, as it is probably called, consolation in prayer, but poured like four pounds of sugar into a two-pound sack] I was confused (I was very glad to have it but I sincerely thought I had not asked for it.) But later I understood that these are connected, like a child who asks for orange juice and is surprised it comes from oranges (and necessarily so).
This desire to be with Christ in his suffering in compassion for him, or this desire to "prove" one's love by being cut into a thousand pieces or to shed the last drop of one's blood (which someone might extravagantly exclaim in consoling prayer like St Peter says some dramatic things before the passion), is like a person who plants the seed of a cherry tomato (or a pea), and then after the first couple of leaves come up (which never look recognizable for a seedling of any kind), the little plant starts to have leaves that are recognizably those of a tomato plant (or a pea plant). These leaves show promise that the plant will eventually flower and bear fruit of the same kind that produced the seed. God (willing himself to be "moved" by compassion although as God he cannot be moved (literally by definition as the "unmoved mover")) came to be with us in our suffering in the Person of the Son, and "proved" his love by shedding the last drop of his blood (first willing himself to take on flesh and have blood in order to do this) which was absurdly generous (like making absurdly more than enough wine at Cana), and so it should not be surprising that the little seedlings have leaves of the same shape and begin to desire to bear the same kind of (absurd) fruit. At first there are only leaves (as the passion unfolds we see that St Peter was *at that time* all talk: big hat, no cattle). As a side note, later when there is fruit, the gardener picks it as it ripens and puts the fruit in the house and perhaps the plant looks at itself and sees that it is not bearing fruit, which might be distressing (it would be best for the plant to not think about this or look at itself). But of course this is necessary. If you leave cherry tomatoes on a plant they will rot, or the chipmunks will take them and eat them.
The line which stood out for me in this chapter was "there is a crucial connection in the divine plan between advanced prayer and generous suffering." (P 15) Both of them suffered immensely. And John said "under duress 'a soul enkindled with love is a gentle, meek, humble, and patient soul.'" (P 36) And yet it is so easy to try to avoid all difficulties rather than go through them.
If a person loves Jesus with a lot of supernatural love then they want to be with him not only in his glory now but also in his humility and suffering (which we read about in the Gospels), which move their heart with compassion and so whatever happens to them, they find him there (by looking), and they rejoice (are they cold? He has been cold; are they hungry? He has been hungry; have they been woken in the night? He has been deprived of sleep as we have read.) Here I speak of material things. We, however, do not rejoice and so what is missing is just this large amount of supernatural love (and it is natural for it to be missing because it comes from God, not from our own nature. It can be had for the asking, however.)
So really the secret sauce for everything is to ask (persistently like the widow annoying the judge) for a greater love of God. I came into this backwards about nine years ago by asking for a greater love of neighbor and when I observed later that what I had most obviously received was a greater love of God [resulting from having the love of God poured into one's heart via, as it is probably called, consolation in prayer, but poured like four pounds of sugar into a two-pound sack] I was confused (I was very glad to have it but I sincerely thought I had not asked for it.) But later I understood that these are connected, like a child who asks for orange juice and is surprised it comes from oranges (and necessarily so).
This desire to be with Christ in his suffering in compassion for him, or this desire to "prove" one's love by being cut into a thousand pieces or to shed the last drop of one's blood (which someone might extravagantly exclaim in consoling prayer like St Peter says some dramatic things before the passion), is like a person who plants the seed of a cherry tomato (or a pea), and then after the first couple of leaves come up (which never look recognizable for a seedling of any kind), the little plant starts to have leaves that are recognizably those of a tomato plant (or a pea plant). These leaves show promise that the plant will eventually flower and bear fruit of the same kind that produced the seed. God (willing himself to be "moved" by compassion although as God he cannot be moved (literally by definition as the "unmoved mover")) came to be with us in our suffering in the Person of the Son, and "proved" his love by shedding the last drop of his blood (first willing himself to take on flesh and have blood in order to do this) which was absurdly generous (like making absurdly more than enough wine at Cana), and so it should not be surprising that the little seedlings have leaves of the same shape and begin to desire to bear the same kind of (absurd) fruit. At first there are only leaves (as the passion unfolds we see that St Peter was *at that time* all talk: big hat, no cattle). As a side note, later when there is fruit, the gardener picks it as it ripens and puts the fruit in the house and perhaps the plant looks at itself and sees that it is not bearing fruit, which might be distressing (it would be best for the plant to not think about this or look at itself). But of course this is necessary. If you leave cherry tomatoes on a plant they will rot, or the chipmunks will take them and eat them.
Thank you. I will start praying for more love not just in a huge list of virtues I pray for to Our Lady of Monte Cassino but separately.